Beck watches me with what I think is concern etched across his face. “Come on, kids, join the hockey camp with the coach who locks kids in a room together.” “It’s fine,” I say. “I did this. You were just … there.” “Does that make me an accessory to kidnapping? Oh, shit, is this kidnapping?” “It’s … a training exercise. They have water in there. Dad’s private bathroom. It’ll be … fine.” I hope.
